Tis a Consummation
by SugoiAuthorToBe
Summary: So for my acting class I had to memorize Hamlet's monologue on his decision on whether or not he'd kill himself. And since Sakumo killed himself. . . well, this is what happens when I'm bored and have to practice my lines. So basically, what Sakumo was thinking before he committed seppuku.


It was a normal day in Konoha in which this story began and ended. It was bright and sunny; birds chirped cheerfully; children played in the streets; children of clans played ninja, although they were not even Academy age.

For Sakumo, this was very normal.

What was also normal was for his son to be away, training. Hatake Sakumo had no doubt his son loved him, but Kakashi loved his father in more of a goal-for-the-future way. Kakashi aimed to be as strong as his father, even if he was but five years old.

In some ways, Sakumo was a bit proud of his son for being so determined, and being so strong; the child would definitely graduate from the Academy earlier than what was natural. In other ways, however, Sakumo felt an emotion stronger than guilt that he couldn't really describe. His son never acted like a kid ought. Always training, with that emotionless face of his.

He wondered where he went wrong.

If the relationship between father and son had been bad _before _the mission, then Sakumo was uncertain how to explain the discomfort of their days shared _after _the mission.

Kakashi not only distanced himself from, but also despised, his father, very like the villagers. Sakumo thought perhaps this was what he deserved for being a miserable father. There were no excuses for his terrible wrongs, but perhaps if he had had more experience before Kakashi. . .

Sakumo shook his head.

He was very sure of what needed to happen.

He was a disgrace to the Village Hidden in the Leaves. Sakumo broke the one rule all shinobi were taught from day one: the mission comes first. That was final. Shinobi were ordered killers: if leaving behind a few injured comrades would complete the mission, you did it. But Sakumo had disobeyed, and now he was the scapegoat for the downturn the Leaf had taken in this Third Shinobi War. By choosing to save his comrades, Sakumo failed that one mission that would've changed the tides of war in favor of the Leaf. Even the comrades he saved from the fingers of death scorned him!

"To be. . . or not to be."

Sakumo sat in the middle of his small clan compound: as result of this war, most of his clan was decimated. In fact. . . it was only him and little Kakashi left. At least at that moment. He sat in what was his tea room, where he used to have clan meetings with the wealthier members to discuss matters of importance. There were tatami mats and everything, but it was rarely ever used anymore, which saddened the infamous ninja even more.

"That is the question."

Sakumo had studied the poets of old after a particularly difficult mission years ago. He had become unable to fight and had thus taken a leave of shinobi activities. As a way to amuse himself while he healed, Sakumo read his wife's books, studying the works of older shinobi from village-less clans, or shinobi from the time before the Hidden fillages.

The man almost laughed at how ironic this situation was. He now perfectly understood exactly how Hamlet felt, his plight.

"Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune," Sakumo said, taking long pauses in between sentences. If he twisted the words around, the monologue fit his situation like the forehead protector he didn't deserve anymore.

"Or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing. . . end them."

Who was Sakumo taking arms with? Who made up the water in that sea? Was Sakumo a bridge, or a shark? And what was he ending? Sakumo realized he didn't even know whose side he was on anymore. Those of the new generation who leaned towards friendship, or those of old who followed all orders, no matter how immoral?

"To die. . . to sleep. . . to sleep- - perchance to dream."

Sakumo was a strong man. But to have his home village, whom he served his whole life with his blood, sweat, and tears scorn him with contumelies? It was outrageous! And yet, the shinobi did not feel it was undeserved. No village survived without a strong army. Who was he to be cowardly?

_No, _thought Sakumo. _I can't. I . . . can't. No._ He set down his blade. Kakashi would be home soon. He had to care for his son, no matter how independent the kid claimed to be.

. . . But then again, who said Sakumo was being cowardly? He picked his blade back up, running the edge along the soft skin of his neck and the damp skin of his cheeks. "When he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, to grunt and sweat under a weary life!"

Wasn't he risking his life? His son's life? Was that not enough for these selfish shinobi of the Leaf? Sakumo sacrificed his peace of mind and lifestyle, just so that these ignorant, selfish, miserable fools could enjoy their shameless lives in peace! They didn't even know what peace _was!_

He bore the whips and scorn of time on the battlefield. In which the Leaf was the wrong oppressor, Sakumo would be the proud man serving as target of contumelies. The pangs of despised love - - the death of his wife, his brothers, his whole clan, his family, his friends - -, the law that forced shinobi like him to make "poor" choices that are noble in the mind, but cause suffering to not just him, but the whole village! Not even soft, fool-hearted Hiruzen could convince his shinobi of otherwise!

"But the insolence of office, and the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes!" It wasn't fair! The whole _village _was being childish, bullying one of its hardworking shinobi into depression! Sakumo was no fool; he knew depression when he saw it, and by Kami, he was a victim but he didn't care because what they didn't know was that _he did nothing wrong. _And if those old fools high-up in the council didn't realize that, then the whole of the Elemental Nations were doomed for failure!

So no, Sakumo would not be cowardly. Without hesitance, the shinobi positioned the blade over his stomach. He would find that something after death; the undiscovered country, from whose bourn no traveller returns, puzzles the will, and makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of.

Sakumo heard a soft "Tadaima" from the other end of the Hatake clan compound.

He closed his eyes and plunged the blade deep into his stomach proudly. He did not regret his actions, the comrades he saved, the families he spared from heartbreak.

Slowly. . . slooowwllly. . . the shinobi fell forward onto his belly and into a puddle of his own crimson blood. The liquid flowed from his wound, staining the mats and paper doors.

"Be . . . all my . . . 'sins' . . . remembered."

As the light faded from his dark eyes, Sakumo said his last words. Hopefully his son would learn from his father's mistakes and take a better path, away from the wrath of the village.

The doors slid open with a slam.


End file.
